


A Mistake Not To Listen

by Jay_eagle



Series: Submission [3]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: AU of an AU, Alternate Universe - BDSM, Bigotry & Prejudice, Deaf Character, Dom!Douglas, M/M, Sub!Martin, deaf!Martin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-07
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-02-20 07:54:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2420978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jay_eagle/pseuds/Jay_eagle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An anonymous prompter on Tumblr requested an AU in which Martin is deaf, set in a BDSM AU (does that make it an AU squared?) It's a standalone fic, but included in this series due to its BDSM AU setting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Morning, Carolyn. Morning, Adam.” Douglas briskly greeted his boss and his captain as he entered the portacabin. The two of them looked up, scowling.

 

“And what time do you call this, lazybones?” Carolyn snapped.

 

“Carolyn. You surely don’t think that I focus on such pedestrian concerns as _timekeeping_ , do you?” Douglas queried, purely for the delight of seeing Carolyn’s frown lines multiply for a moment. He raised his hands in defeat. “My _humblest_ apologies.” He dropped his bag by his desk and stretched, cracking his shoulders. “Still, only ten minutes over time. That’s getting close to a personal best.”

 

Adam snorted, as Douglas knew he would. His captain’s reactions were so boringly predictable. The man was an automaton – no spark of imagination or humour in him at all. At least Carolyn could be induced to amusement from time to time; Adam was just a boorish social misfit at the best of times, and a nasty antagonist at worst. Douglas had witnessed him being utterly _foul_ to a sub baggage handler just the day before; all because the man had had the misfortune to drop the captain's suitcase by accident while handing it to him. Adam had sworn at him, and had ordered him to apologise in such a dominant tone that the poor beggar had had no option but to crumple under the force of his will, muttering ‘sorry, sorry, sorry’ while bent almost double. It had left a nasty taste in Douglas’ mouth.

 

He shoved the memory aside, a niggle of shame pricking him again – he hadn’t intervened, after all. But to chastise a fellow dom – and his captain, at that – it just wasn’t _done_.

 

“Time for the briefing, then,” he said, mildly, shaking off his twinge of guilt. He went to sit down.

 

Before he could complete the action, however, the door to the apron opened, and Arthur tumbled through. A less likely top Douglas had never met – he’d spent the first year of knowing him assuming he was a switch at most. But, unbelievable though it seemed, Arthur had since paired off with one of the admin staff at the airfield, a lovely young sub called Poppy, and the two of them seemed blissfully happy together – if the unusually brightly coloured collar adorning her neck for the past three months was anything to go by. “Morning, chaps!” the steward called, happily. “Douglas! You’re on time!”

 

“Not exactly,” Carolyn began to grouse, but she was halted by Arthur’s enthusiastic pat to her shoulder.

 

“He is! He’s here just ten minutes after he was supposed to be! You’ve got to admit that’s close enough to pass for actually on time today, surely, Mum.”

 

“Oh, for goodness’ sake…” Carolyn muttered, but her complaint was aborted by a light cough from behind Arthur that alerted Douglas to the entrance of a short, slight man he’d never seen before. “Ah. Martin. There you are.”

 

“Martin?” Douglas looked the question at the ginger-haired man, who ducked his head and flushed. Douglas directed his enquiring gaze at Carolyn instead.

 

“Martin here is our new senior cabin crew member.” Martin was crimson, Douglas observed, clearly uncomfortable with being the centre of attention. _What a funny little man_. “With business picking up so much, I decided that I need to devote my full attention to running MJN from the ground. And witless here – “ she jabbed Arthur affectionately – “needs some help in the skies, so Martin’s going to take charge of the stewarding from now on.”

 

“Welcome along, Martin,” Douglas said, still trying to suss him out as he extended a broad hand for him to shake. _No collar – not claimed, then. But he’s certainly not a top. God, his blushing clashes with his hair._

 

Yet at that moment Martin met his eyes and smiled at the greeting, and for a second Douglas’ breath caught. Something about the sea-green of those eyes in that freckly complexion – _stupid_. He recovered himself and shook hands, nodding warmly.

 

“Thanks,” Martin said, but there was something strange about his voice. It sounded a little… thicker than it should. Douglas frowned, but the single word didn’t give him much to go on.

 

Adam had stood at the introductions too, and addressed Martin now. “Yes, yes, welcome.” He waved his hands dismissively. “As Arthur may have told you, I run a tight ship. Keep everything in its place and the _cargo_ – freight or human – in order, and you’ll find no trouble from me.”

 

Martin’s eyes had widened slightly at the domineering tone, and to Douglas’ surprise, he threw his shoulders back and drew himself upright. An unexpected flare of appreciation ran through Douglas – not many people resisted Adam’s bossy, entitled manner – much less a _sub_. Martin spoke, a touch of haughtiness in his own voice, now. “I run a cabin with the utmost efficiency, _sir_.”

 

There it was again – the odd thickening of the ends of words. Something a little – different about the way Martin spoke. Carolyn coughed, and as Martin turned his head to look at her, Douglas saw it. A small, black implant running up the side of his head, just about visible under the auburn curls. _Aha_. Before Douglas could stop himself, he blurted it out, the triumph of solving the puzzle overriding his good manners. “You’re deaf.” He blushed immediately. How _crass_ of him. Before Martin could get another word out, he held up his hands. “My apologies.”

 

To his surprise, Martin grinned, the expression transforming his features. “Why are you sorry? I am deaf, you’re right.”

 

“You’re _deaf_?” Adam had returned his attention to the flight plan, but at the revelation his head had snapped up. His tone was hostile, in contrast to Douglas’ mere curiosity. “How on earth is he going to communicate with the passengers, Carolyn?”

 

Carolyn opened her mouth, but before she had a chance to answer, Martin got there first. “The same way I’m communicating with all of you.” He stepped towards Adam, not squaring up exactly, but making his presence impossible to ignore. Douglas could see the tension in his back – he wondered whether it was the stress of the incipient argument or simply the effort it would be taking Martin to be this forceful towards someone as effortlessly dominant as Adam. Either way, he admired him for it – detachedly.

 

Martin carried on. “I have a cochlear implant. I can hear most things.”

 

“And if it breaks mid-flight?” Adam snorted dismissively. “Carolyn, this is unacceptable. The passengers will never have it.”

 

“It won’t break.” Martin’s voice was ominously calm. “And if it did, I can lip-read.” He turned to leave, but cast a parting sentence back. “So I wouldn’t assume you can talk about me behind my back. _Captain_.” He paused to let the statement sink in, then swept out to the apron again, leaving a rather stunned silence in his wake.

 

Adam opened and closed his mouth, looking a little foolish, Douglas was delighted to observe. “Well. He’d better be as good at stewarding as he is at answering back.”

 

Carolyn glowered at him. “Enough. He’s come with excellent references.” She transferred her glare to Douglas. “Come on, do the load sheet. Six passengers and 32 filing cabinets to deliver along with them to Paris. Arthur – go and help Martin get the cabin ready.” Arthur shot out. As he opened the door, Douglas caught the briefest glimpse outside: Martin was standing just through the door, shoulders hunched and shuddering. _Definitely a sub_. _But to have defied Adam like that… what an unusual sub he must be_. Douglas’ mind drifted, pondering the conundrum Martin presented.

 

“Douglas!” Carolyn’s enraged snap brought his attention back to his duties. “Load sheet!”

 

“Alright, alright…” he muttered, and slumped balefully down at his desk. “I’m on it.” He’d have to get to know Martin better later.


	2. Chapter 2

“Golf Echo Romeo Tango India to Fitton Tower. Request clearance for engine start for Paris.”

 

Douglas studied Adam covertly as the captain focused on the radio. A tinge of red still coloured his neck; it had been a long time since Douglas had seen Adam so agitated. Martin had obviously really riled him.

 

“ _Clear to start_.”

 

“Acknowledged, Tower. Clear to start.”

 

Adam turned to Douglas, looking at first surprised, and then suspicious to catch Douglas’ sidelong gaze. “Start engines.”

 

“Aye aye, Captain,” Douglas said, not bothering to disguise the hint of sarcasm he never managed to restrain when taking orders from Adam – who was, after all, ten years younger than him. _I wonder how old Martin is,_ he mused, the thought popping into his mind unbidden, before he shrugged and concentrated instead on pushing GERTI back from the stand. He waved breezily to the ground staff as they uncoupled the small truck from the plane’s nose – purely because he knew it irritated Adam that he was on such good terms with them - and then smoothly directed GERTI towards Fitton’s only runway.

 

“Bizarrely charitable hiring policy Carolyn’s adopted.” Adam’s voice broke into his concentration. Clearly Douglas hadn’t been the only one musing on their newest colleague.

 

“What do you mean?” Douglas knew perfectly well, but he was damned if Adam was going to get away without saying it out loud.

 

Adam blustered. “Well – obvious – how can he possibly – I mean, he can’t _hear_.”

 

Douglas suppressed the withering gaze he’d been about to shoot across the cockpit with difficulty; Adam was still technically his superior officer, after all. “The cochlear implant transmits soundwaves straight to his brain. It hears for him.”

 

“Yes, but really –“

 

Douglas didn’t want to hear any more of the man’s ignorant bile. He reached over Adam for the radio instead, cutting him off. “Golf Echo Romeo Tango India, at the holding point for runway 09. Request clearance for take off.”

 

“ _Clearance granted. Bon voyage, chaps. Bring me back a baguette_.”

 

“Clearance granted. Will do, Karl.” Douglas flipped the radio back into silence. “Off we go, then.” Before Adam could say another word, Douglas revved the engines and they were away. Douglas relished the tug back into his seat as the plane shot off, the engines buzzing like a kicked beehive as GERTI pelted down the runway. He leant back, and guided them up into the air. He’d never admit it – but even if he had to carry out this familiar action a million more times, the sheer soaring joy of it would never leave him. Never.

 

* * *

 

Twenty minutes later, there was a tentative knock at the door. Arthur had never been tentative about anything in his life, Douglas imagined, so there was really only one person this could be...

 

He was right. “Coffee, captain?” Martin stepped in. “Arthur said milk and no sugar?”

 

“That’s right.” Adam didn’t even bother to look round, and Douglas’ hands tightened round the yoke. Martin set the mug down next to him and turned to Douglas.

 

“And for you, sir?”

 

“Tea, please. Julie Andrews style.”

 

Martin met his words with confusion, as Douglas had expected. “Sir?”

 

“Julie Andrews. White, none.” Martin paused a second as he worked it out, but then laughed, as Douglas had hoped he would. Douglas smiled at him - trying to make up for Adam’s rudeness - and was pleased to be met with a flash of the same infectious grin he’d enjoyed back in the portacabin. “And no need to call me sir. Douglas will do fine.”

 

Martin flushed again. “OK. Right away, s- Douglas.”

 

He disappeared, but Douglas found he was still smiling - until Adam spoke again.

 

“Foregoing _all_ protocol then, are we?”

 

“Oh, come off it.” Douglas’ patience was at an end. “If there are only five of us at MJN, what’s the point of the formalities?”

 

“I earned my title. I intend to keep it.” Adam’s fists were bunched.

 

“Fine. _Sir_.”

 

Icy silence flooded the cockpit until Martin clicked the door open once again. “Here we are. Tea for –“ He’d caught his foot on the slight lip of the doorway into the flight deck. Douglas spun in his seat just in time to see cup, liquid and Martin all flying through the air towards them both.

 

“Whoa there!” He grabbed and caught Martin’s arm on instinct, saving him from completely crashing to the ground. The tea, though –

 

“You _idiot_.” Adam stood up, brown liquid dripping from his sleeve and rage evident in his face. “Look what you’ve done. Haven’t you ever been on an aircraft before, steward?”

 

“Yes – I’m sorry – I’m sorry –“ Martin was clearly mortified, reaching futilely to pat at the stain on the floor with his bare hands.

 

“You could have scalded me. You could have imperiled the plane.”

 

Martin’s head jerked up in alarm. “Is she alright?” He shot a panicky glance at the console, but the liquid had stopped well short of it.

 

Adam exploded with anger. “Is _she_ alright? What about me?”

 

“I’m sorry, sorry – are you alright, Adam?”

 

Adam stepped forward, hands clenched. He towered over Martin, who instinctively flinched into a half-ball, everything in him shrinking from the force of Adam’s wrath.

 

“Sir. You call me sir, steward.”

 

“Oh – Sir, of course, I’m sorry, sorry, sir...”

 

“Clean this up. This minute, you –“

 

“ _Adam_.” Douglas couldn’t take another syllable. “Martin will mop it now. And he’s said sorry.”

 

Adam breathed heavily, not taking his eyes off the cowering figure at his feet, but when he spoke again, his voice was calmer. “There’s a spare shirt in my flight bag. Fetch it.”

 

“Please,” Douglas added, catching Martin’s wrist to help him up. He unconsciously registered the delicate bones shifting beneath his grip, the thinness of the Martin’s frame meaning he could encircle his arm with finger and thumb. “Are _you_ alright? That was a truly spectacular tumble.” He tried to lighten the mood. “Shame we don’t film in here. You could have had £200 from Harry Hill*.” He ignored Adam’s snort.

 

“I’m fine, honestly.” Martin’s face was grateful, the remnants of his humiliation still twisting his mouth slightly. “I’ll get your shirt right away, captain. And I’ll bring some more tea.”

 

Douglas was tempted to tell him not to bother – they’d nearly arrived, after all. But even as he opened his mouth, he realized that of course Martin would see that as Douglas implying the steward’s incompetence, and so he didn’t demur after all. “Thanks,” he said instead, and turned his attention back to the instruments.

 

* * *

 

Martin’s week didn’t seem to get any better. On the second flight, out of nervousness he managed to announce to the passengers that they’d landed in Glasgow, not Edinburgh, earning a terse correction over the tannoy from Adam before Douglas could intervene. Prior to their third flight, Adam claimed to have nearly locked him in the hold by mistake – Douglas caught him snippily telling Martin off on the tarmac, ignoring Martin’s stuttered apologies and claims that he was interested and ‘only looking, sir’.

 

Finally, the fourth and fifth flights passed without incident; but just as Douglas was mentally breathing a sigh of relief that Martin’s run of bad luck was apparently over, things took a definite turn for the worse.

 

“I’m not having him on the plane.” Martin’s arms were folded, his expression set and adamant as Douglas walked down the airbridge towards GERTI. Martin and Carolyn were glaring at each other across the plane doorway, each looking as determined as the other.

 

“It’s my plane, Martin, and if I say he boards, he boards.”

 

“He’s a risk!” He’s absolutely wasted, look at him. _Smell_ him, for goodness’ sake.”

 

“It’s a stag party! What do you expect?”

 

Martin shook his head determinedly. “I’ve seen this before. He’ll be a nightmare. I’m not having him in my cabin.”

 

Douglas cut in, smoothly, as he reached them. “I take it we’re debating the fate of the extremely drunken collared fellow sprawled in the departure lounge back there? Wearing the sombrero?”

 

“Indeed.” Carolyn acknowledged him with a wave of her hand.

 

“If Martin would prefer he not board, that is his right. Carolyn. You can’t overrule your senior steward.”

 

“Douglas –“

 

Carolyn didn’t get the chance to finish her sentence. “ _I_ can, though.” Adam’s approach hadn’t been noticed by any of them. “I’m perfectly happy for all of the stags to board.” Adam smiled, coldly. “Time for our new senior to show his mettle, I fancy. If you can’t manage an inebriated _sub_ , Martin, there’s no hope for you.” He pushed in between them and stepped on to the plane, tossing a parting remark over his shoulder casually as he went. “It’s not as if their _noise_ will bother you.”

 

Martin’s jaw dropped. “He – he –“ he spluttered abortively, before throwing his hands in the air. “Carolyn?” His voice was plaintive now.

 

Carolyn’s mouth tightened. “Sorry. If Adam says he flies, he flies.” She gave Martin a rather more sympathetic look. “But I’ll speak to him about his… attitude.” She disappeared onto the plane, leaving Martin standing alone with Douglas.

 

“Cheer up,” Douglas said, unable to bear Martin’s woebegone expression. “These bloody stag do’s are always a nightmare, but at least it’s only a short hop back to Fitton.”

 

Martin shook his head. “I’m just trying to do my job.”

 

“So’s Adam.” Douglas clapped him on the back, before leaning forward confidingly. “It’s just that his job seems to be to be an irredeemable tosspot.”

 

Martin laughed, caught off guard. He met Douglas’ gaze, and Douglas was alarmed to feel his heart flutter unexpectedly. “Thanks. For sticking up for me, I mean.”

 

“You were doing fine on your own.”

 

“I wish Arthur wasn’t on holiday. He’d have backed me up.”

 

“For all the good it’d have done you. You might have noticed – Adam takes about as much notice of Arthur as he does houseflies.”

 

Martin groaned. After a pause, he mumbled “Arthur’s great.”

 

Douglas was surprised. “Oh, you’re a fan of our resident steward?” He raised an eyebrow. “Most people find him tricky to take.”

 

“No, I like him. He’s helpful, and showed me the ropes, and he loves GERTI, and he tells me to take no notice of _him_.” Martin jerked his head towards the plane. “Why – don’t you like him? Arthur, I mean.”

 

“I do, as a matter of fact. His approach to life is refreshingly… original.”

 

Martin smiled, then sighed. “Suppose I’d better get the passengers boarded, then.”

 

Douglas grinned sympathetically. “My turn to do the walkround. Good luck.”

 

Martin trudged back up the airbridge, shoulders slumped. Douglas watched him go, but was surprised to witness him clearly mastering himself before he got to the departure lounge; he could see the deep breaths, the head drawing upwards. By the time Martin left Douglas’ sight, considering he was a short man, he looked almost – tall. His authoritative persona was obviously back in place.

 

 _Perhaps I got it wrong,_ Douglas mused, as he strolled round GERTI’s tail. _Perhaps he is a switch after all._ _Unusual, but not impossible_. He mentally compared Carolyn – the only switch he knew – to Martin, but could draw no conclusions. Carolyn’s authority was less wavering, more fixed, when she deployed it; Martin’s submissive curl at Adam’s fury had been like nothing Douglas had ever seen anyone with a dominant dynamic display. But Martin, when he stood his ground, was impressive. _Peculiar. Most peculiar_. It was as unexpected as a heifer squaring up to a horned bull.

 

Unfortunately, Douglas had the chance to witness more of Martin’s combativeness on the very same flight. An hour in, he suddenly became aware of raised voices emanating from beyond the flight deck door.

 

“Can you hear that?”

 

“What?” Adam was staring fixedly ahead, evidently determined to ignore the disturbance.

 

“Shouting.” Douglas got up out of his seat, but before he could get any further, the cockpit door was flung open and a red-faced Carolyn burst in.

 

“Douglas! The man – I mean, the groom – sombrero boy –“ She caught her breath and continued. “He’s fighting with Martin, he won’t sit down, won’t take orders from –“ She gave a sideways glance at Adam, but clearly saw no option but to continue. “Won’t take orders from a sub –“

 

Douglas took a step forward as the raised voices got even louder, but before he could go anywhere Adam spoke up. “I’ll deal with it, Carolyn.”

 

“But –“ Douglas was staggered. He’d never known Adam to try to _help_ before, and he had the uneasy feeling that this could mean nothing good.

 

“You have control, Douglas.”

 

“But –“

 

“Douglas. You have control.”

 

Douglas sat back down. “Fine. I have control.”

 

Adam stormed out, but left the cockpit door open so Douglas could hear what was happening, albeit muffledly.

 

“ **Out of the way**.” A thud – was that Martin, or the lout being shoved aside? “You. **Sit down** , now.” All of Adam’s immense dominance was ringing in the timbre of his voice. Douglas had never known a sub be able to resist that tone. The drunken shouting ceased abruptly. “Good. **Shut up and sit still**.” There was a soft noise, now, a rustling. Douglas guessed the sub had curled back into his seat. Abruptly, there was a sniveling, whimpering noise.

 

“ **Silence**.” The weepy cries ceased instantly. “Go to sleep. Sleep it off.”

 

“K.”

 

There were footsteps, as Carolyn murmured to Douglas “He’s bringing Martin back. I’ll go and resume the service.” She shot out, and Douglas caught a glimpse of her patting Martin’s arm as they met in the doorway. It was the most comforting he’d ever seen his steely employer be.

 

Douglas turned as the two entered the cockpit. “All better?” He tried to give Martin a sympathetic look, expecting him to look cowed and miserable, but to his shock Martin’s head was back and he was glowering at Adam.

 

“I told you that would happen,” Martin snapped, ignoring Douglas’ question. “I _told_ you he shouldn’t be allowed to board.”

 

“And I told _you_ to manage him. If you can’t handle the passengers, you can’t do this job –“

 

“He threatened me –“

 

“And you failed to deal with it.”

 

“He should never have been on the flight!” Martin was refusing to back down, to Douglas’ amazement. He could see the steward’s shoulders quivering as he forced himself to meet Adam’s angry eyes, could see the effort that it was costing him, but still he stood –

 

“ **Get out**.” Adam’s voice was laced with command, and Martin turned instinctively to leave, his body betraying him before he could consciously register it. But he stopped himself – _how? How is he doing that?_ \- and span to face Adam again. Adam looked flabbergasted, to Douglas’ satisfaction.

 

“That’s the height of rudeness, you know.” Martin’s voice was eerily calm. “To dom someone without their permission. _Sir_.”

 

Adam blustered again, and Douglas could tell he knew he’d gone too far. “I’m your superior.”

 

“But not my dom.” Martin’s nostrils flared.

 

“All I’m saying is – if you can’t even deal with another sub, how are you going to cope when a bolshy top comes along?” Adam sneered.

 

Martin opened his mouth, then shut it again. He appeared to be stuck for an answer for a moment. “It’s never been a problem before. I can run a cabin.” His hands were shaking uncontrollably, Douglas noticed, with sudden concern. He stepped in.

 

“I think that’s enough, don’t you?” he said, firmly. Both of them looked at him as if they’d forgotten he was there. “Martin – I’m sure Carolyn needs your help.”

 

“I’m going.” Martin nodded, then trudged out. Douglas noticed Adam glaring at his back as he went.

 

“Why do you hate him?”

 

“I don’t hate him,” Adam scoffed. “I just despise people who can’t do their fucking jobs.” He sat stiffly back in his chair, which squeaked in protest.

 

 _Well, you’ve hardly made it easy for him, have you?_ Douglas nearly snapped, but restrained himself. He couldn’t be bothered to fight with Adam. Stupid man.

 

They flew on, Douglas’ mind churning. He’d hoped that once Adam saw Martin’s clear competence, the rocky start would have been forgotten – because in spite of today, Martin was competent, Douglas knew; he’d never seen the cupboards so well organized or the meals so efficiently delivered. But it appeared that Adam wasn’t willing to let this go.

 

* * *

 

Douglas saw just how determined Adam was not to let things lie on the very next flight. Martin had served them both their lunch in the flight deck – a soupy stew brimming with sauce – before he went to dish up for the passengers. Douglas took one look at the bright red mess in his bowl and excused himself to the loo. His lunch going cold wouldn’t improve it, certainly – but at least it couldn’t possibly make it worse.

 

Just as he was leaving the toilet again, to his amazement, GERTI gave a sudden dip and lurch in the air. The plane dropped like a lead weight in a vacuum, then bounced up again with astonishing speed. The passengers – today a full complement of investment bankers they were taking to Stockholm – cried out in surprise and (in some cases) fear, but amongst the shouts, there was a longer, more aggrieved wail. Douglas had staggered against the wall, but as he turned to dash back to the cockpit, he heard the beginning of a tirade directed, presumably, at Martin. “My lunch! All over me! You clumsy, stupid, idiotic…”

 

The noise of the angry berating faded as Douglas re-entered the cockpit and shut the door. Was it his imagination, or had Adam’s head been turned to listen as he came in?

 

“Turbulence,” Adam said, shortly, as Douglas strapped himself back in his harness – an unusual occurrence in itself. He never bothered to explain anything to Douglas.

 

“Really?” Douglas enquired, trying to keep his voice level. He tapped the screen. “Looks all clear up ahead.”

 

“Good job, too.” Adam smiled, but not a nice smile. The sort a piranha might give a goldfish. “Now our passengers can enjoy their lunch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * For the non-Brits - Harry Hill was the host of a home video clips show called You've Been Framed. Consists entirely of pratfalls and dogs running into mirrors, etc.


	3. Chapter 3

The following Monday, Douglas at first didn’t understand why he felt so elated when he woke up. It took him until he’d shuffled sleepily into the kitchen to put a pot of coffee on to realise the reason – Adam was on holiday all week, so it would be just Martin and him running a series of domestic cargo flights, Arthur still being away as well. He almost missed their younger steward – he’d felt the lack of inspired non-sequiturs and excitable stories over the last week – but Adam’s absence was definitely a cause for jubilation. Perhaps he’d finally be able to get to know Martin a little better without Adam throwing his weight around the flight deck.

 

When he arrived at the portacabin, though, there wasn’t time for any social chit-chat: Carolyn put him and Martin straight to work, loading the cargo (a batch of children’s toys to run over to Northern Ireland), and the two of them barely had the chance to exchange more than grunted greetings as they hefted surprisingly heavy boxes into GERTI’s capacious interior. For such a slight man, Martin was astonishingly strong – Douglas almost dropped one case as he bent to take it from Martin, but Martin sprang hastily to catch it, lifting it out of danger as easily as if it had contained nothing but Styrofoam peanuts.

 

“Thanks,” Douglas panted, uncomfortably aware of his likely red cheeks and fringe plastered to his forehead with sweat, while Martin looked no more hot and bothered than if he’d taken a light stroll down the street. “You’re good at this. Been practicing?”

 

To his surprise, rather than laugh at his joke, Martin flushed and turned away. Douglas was half-offended; honestly, he’d defended Martin more than once against Adam. Surely Martin wasn’t going to hold Adam’s crassness against _him_?

 

Nettled, he didn’t address another word to the steward until Carolyn finally declared herself satisfied with the hold and waved them off with a taciturn “Bring her back in one piece, you hear?” Douglas strode up the steps to board, hearing Martin trudging behind him.

 

“I’ll go and radio the tower,” he said, and disappeared into the cockpit, leaving Martin to secure the cabin for take-off. He quickly got clearance despite Karl’s chattiness, and signed off just as he heard Martin poke his head through the door behind him.

 

“Cabin secured, sir.”

 

“ _Douglas_.” Douglas turned round, quirking an eyebrow. “How many times?”

 

“Sorry, Douglas.” Martin cast his eyes down, his shoulders rounded in what looked almost like defeat. In spite of his annoyance, Douglas didn’t like to see him looking so sad.

 

“Hey,” he said, quietly. “At least Adam’s not here this week.”

 

Martin brightened. “Yes.” He flashed a grin at the first officer, who beamed back.

 

“Tell you what, it seems daft for you to sit back there when there are just the two of us onboard. Do you want to take the jump seat?”

 

Martin’s eyes went wider than Douglas would have believed possible. “Really? _Really_?”

 

Douglas was taken aback by the enthusiasm. “Sure, if you like. I always prefer company while flying.”

 

“Wow.” Martin actually did a little hop from foot to foot. “Brilliant!”

 

Douglas laughed. “You’ve picked that up from Arthur.”

 

He was pleased when Martin chuckled back while strapping himself in. “Bound to happen. I think it accounts for about every fifth word he uses.”

 

“Think yourself lucky – before Adam started I reckon it was averaging every third.”

 

The smile slid off Martin’s face at the mention of the captain, and Douglas mentally kicked himself for bringing up the subject. He turned back to the console and flicked GERTI into life. “Off we go then.” He affected an accent. “Norn’ Iron awaits.”

 

* * *

 

Douglas was concentrating during take-off, of course; but even in spite of his focus on getting GERTI aloft, he was conscious of Martin positively _vibrating_ with enthusiasm behind him. As he leveled off in the cruise he turned around with a wry grin. “So, Martin. You like flying, then?”

 

“ _Like_ it?” Martin bounced like Douglas’ daughter being told she’d get to go to the funfair. “I love everything about it, the plane, the lift, the speed, the pull back when we take off…” Seeing Douglas snicker, he trailed off. “You’re making fun of me.”

 

“What? No, no,” Douglas hastened to reassure him. “I was just enjoying your… excitement.”

 

“Really?”

 

Douglas nodded back as sincerely as he could. “Yep.” He adjusted course slightly, before looking round again. “Sit there, if you like,” he said, gesturing to his usual chair on the right.

 

Martin looked flabbergasted. “Like… like a pilot?”

 

“Well… yes.”

 

Martin flung himself out of the jump seat and across the cockpit so quickly he was almost a blur. Douglas laughed out loud, that time, and fortunately Martin seemed to understand his amusement, giving a sheepish smile back. “I know it’s silly. I just really love flying, and it’s so nice to see out of the front…” He gazed ahead with a hushed sigh, taking in the view. For once, Douglas pondered the panorama laid out ahead rather than taking it for granted. He could understand Martin’s point; the clouds peaked and fluffed like whipped cream, looking comfy enough to lie on, the odd flashes of green beneath as ground peeped through, the brilliant azure sky above them…

 

“Quite something, isn’t it?” Douglas said, softly, breaking their mutual reverie. Martin nodded, meeting his eyes, wonderment evident in his expression, and Douglas felt his stomach drop as if he’d missed a step going downstairs. Embarrassed, he cleared his throat. “So it’s flying that made you want to be a steward, then?” Not letting Martin answer, he went on. “You should have been a pilot, if you enjoy the view out of the cockpit so much."

 

Martin smiled sadly. “Can’t.” He gestured at his ears. “Deaf, remember? I can’t use the radio, even with my implant. Not well enough to satisfy the CAA as a commercial pilot, anyway.”

 

“Oh.” Douglas was horribly embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I had forgotten, I suppose.” He cursed his insensitivity, but Martin shook his head.

 

“No, no! Don’t be sorry. That’s exactly what I want – what I’ve always wanted. People just to forget, and treat me like anyone else.”

 

Douglas felt a little better. “Well – if it’s any comfort – I had. Even in spite of –“ He bit his tongue before he could mention Adam, but Martin knew what he’d been going to say.

 

“Let’s not think about him.”

 

“Let’s not.” Douglas mulled for a new topic of conversation. “I know – do you like word games?”

 

“Word games?”

 

“Sure. I used to play all the time, to make the trips go faster.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“Um… How about… synonyms for brilliant? The one who gets the least buys the coffees at Belfast.”

 

Martin grinned. “You’re on.”

 

* * *

 

Douglas was almost surprised when he and Martin landed back in Fitton that night. The day had – literally, he supposed - flown by; he’d never known time pass so quickly. Relieved of Adam’s intimidation, Martin had shown himself to be good company; he had a quick wit which (while not quite as rapier-swift as Douglas’ own) parried his verbal thrusts most agreeably, and the steward had proven to be highly amenable to word games, making him a truly entertaining cabin-mate. As he taxied GERTI back to her stand, Douglas looked sideways at Martin, who was now slumped back in his chair. “Disappointed to be back?”

 

Martin laughed. “Would you think I were mad if I said yes?”

 

“Only if you do when I say ‘me too’.” Douglas was astonished to note that it was true. He didn’t want the flight to be over. He shook himself. “But that’s only because I’ve now got the joy of all this paperwork to finish.” He patted the clipboard next to him.

 

“Well… I could help you, if you like?” Martin cast him a shy glance.

 

Douglas blinked. “You’d lend a hand? With the paperwork?”

 

“Of course!” Martin’s eyes were guileless. He really did look as though he wanted to help.

 

Douglas frowned. “Far be it from me to refuse an offer of assistance.”

 

Martin bounced again, to Douglas’ bafflement. “Great!”

 

“Ha.” Douglas shook his head. “Wait till you’ve seen it.” He guided the plane to her stand, and switched the engines to silent slumber for the night, completing the post-shutdown checks in a state of semi-concentration – he was too busy contemplating Martin and the peculiar conundrum he presented.

 

Martin watched him attentively, tracking his every move and registering every button pushed. At one point he cleared his throat. “Douglas – why…?” He seemed to catch himself, and stopped.

 

Douglas looked over at him. “What?”

 

Martin had become slightly pink of cheek, his freckles merging into the blush in a distractingly attractive way, Douglas was discomposed to notice. “I just wondered… why you cut off the fuel mixture before you switched off the taxi lights? Shouldn’t it be the other way around?”

 

“You knew what I was doing?” Douglas raised his eyebrows. “You know your way round a Lockheed McDonnell 312?”

 

Martin was now absolutely scarlet. “Not really… I just… I mean, I have no practical experience.”

 

“So how do you know which controls do what? You’ve had flying lessons?”

 

“No. I mean – I always wanted – but I couldn’t afford – I mean – “ Martin stammered, looking miserable, as Douglas stared on incredulously. “I just memorized the manuals. When I knew I’d got the job at MJN.”

 

“You… _memorized_ the manuals?” Douglas was staggered. “But they’re 600 pages long! You can’t know all of them.”

 

Martin sat a little straighter. “I’m getting there.” He looked a little defiant. “Ask me what the maximum crosswind is for a landing with a number one hydro failure.”

 

Douglas gaped. “Well?”

 

“25 knots.” Martin looked at him expectantly.

 

“Are you right?”

 

“You mean… you don’t _know_?”

 

“Martin. I’ve been flying planes for 30 years.” _Please don’t say that’s longer than you’ve been alive_ , thought Douglas, with an uncomfortable squirm in his belly. “And I’ve never, never tried to remember any more of the manual than is absolutely necessary to pass the exams. Why have you, when you don’t have to know all this useless minutia?”

 

“Because it’s _interesting_!” Martin’s voice was so ardent that Douglas almost had to laugh, but he stopped himself in time for Martin to continue. “And maybe… maybe it’s because it’s the closest I’ll ever get. To being a pilot, I mean.” Martin’s shoulders slumped, and a wave of sadness rolled over Douglas at his desolate expression.

 

“That settles it.”

 

Martin looked up. “What?”

 

“You help me with the paperwork tonight, and for the rest of the week’s flights, you’re joining me on the flight deck. Honorary pilot in the absence of our master and commander.”

 

“You don’t have to.” Martin shifted uncomfortably. “Just because you feel sorry for me.”

 

Douglas shook his head definitively. “Nonsense. It’s a selfish request if anything. I like having someone I can trounce at word games.” He grinned. “I’m going to get a lot of coffee out of you this week, Crieff.”

 

Martin fixed him with a gimlet eye. “Fine. But tomorrow… _I_ get to pick the game.”

 

Douglas nodded. “You’re on.” Their gazes met, and for a few seconds, there was an odd, still moment between them. Douglas jerked his chin. “Paperwork. Come on, or we’ll never get home.”

 

Martin grabbed two pens and clicked them, looking for all the world as if he were cocking a brace of pistols in preparation for a duel. “Point me to it.”

 

* * *

 

Douglas had never known a week to pass so quickly in his life. Flights each day seemed to vanish, hours skipping by like minutes as Martin grew increasingly comfortable in Douglas’ company. The strained formality which the steward had adopted with him at first had totally disappeared, and Martin now felt confident enough to tease him back, slipping sly asides into conversation that initially took Douglas by surprise but at length had him chuckling with abandon.

 

Carolyn had seemed to notice the new friendship too, judging by the curious and rather pointed stares she kept giving Douglas whenever he casually brushed against Martin in the portacabin or when Martin remained behind again to help Douglas complete the forms. He’d proven surprisingly adept at the task, and by the end of the five days was flying through them even faster than the first officer – perhaps because he seemed genuinely keen to apply his brain to them, as opposed to Douglas’ belligerent bare-tolerance of the legal necessities.

 

Their last trip of the week was a longer one, to Berlin and back, delivering a set of crates of exceedingly smelly shellfish from Scotland. It had meant an early start, and Douglas had astonished even himself by offering to pick Martin up and drop him home again. Carolyn’s eyebrows had practically disappeared into her firmly permed grey curls when they arrived together, and the look she shot Douglas as he tiredly escorted Martin back to his car at the end of the working day could have lasered through a bank vault. Douglas ignored her, simply calling “See you next week, milady,” as he resisted the urge to place a proprietorial hand on the small of Martin’s back while they walked.

 

Martin yawned as they got into Douglas’ sleek Lexus, so widely that Douglas laughed. “Looks like your head’s about to split in two,” he joked.

 

“Sorry.” Martin shivered lightly. “Long week.”

 

“Oh?” Douglas started the engine. “I’d felt exactly the opposite.”

 

“I know what you mean.” Martin’s reply was quick and natural, enthusiasm filling his voice, but he seemed to falter in confidence and stared at the floor, to Douglas’ concern. “Um… good company, I suppose,” Martin muttered, shyly, and Douglas’ spirits buoyed again like a balloon. He set off on the short drive, pointing them towards Martin’s end of town.

 

“I similarly enjoyed the change in flight deck personnel,” he said, quietly, catching Martin’s pleased flush out of the corner of his eye.

 

“Oh?” Martin didn’t seem to know how to respond.

 

“...That may only be because I’ve never won so much coffee, ever. I never want another cup,” Douglas teased.

 

“That’s not fair,” Martin retorted. “You had to buy mine the second day!”

 

“Only because the game you chose was _beat the sodding manuals_ ,” Douglas cast back, still feeling just as exasperated as he had then.

 

“I can’t believe you fly GERTI and don’t know these details!”

 

“I can’t believe you don’t fly her and you _do_ ,” Douglas jibed in return.

 

They both caught each others’ eyes then, and suddenly, the car was filled with laughter. “Loser,” Douglas mocked.

 

“Incompetent,” Martin batted back.

 

“Never. I can’t believe you’d never heard of Douglas Richardson, Sky God, at your old job. My reputation’s clearly slipping.” Douglas shifted down a gear, easing the car off the dual carriageway as they approached Martin’s address. “Where was your old position, anyway? You never said.”

 

Martin stared sideways out of the window. “Nowhere special. Could you drop me on the corner again, please?”

 

“Where I picked you up this morning?” Martin had offered to wait on the road, so Douglas hadn’t got his house number.

 

“Sure.”

 

Douglas looked over, subtly. Martin had suddenly become awfully subdued. “You OK?”

 

Martin glanced back, seeming to force a smile. “Just tired.”

 

“Hey.” Douglas leaned over to pat his leg without thinking about it. “You’re not worrying about Adam coming back, are you?”

 

Martin jumped a little at the touch. “No.” He smiled again, more warmly this time. “I’ve dealt with far worse tops than that bolshy little –“ He checked himself. “I mean, it’s fine. Not even Adam can spoil a day in the skies.”

 

“Well, good.” Douglas wasn’t quite reassured. “If he ever gets too much –“

 

“I’m fine, thank you.” Martin’s eyes met Douglas’, seriously, as he pulled up to the kerb on Martin’s corner. “I can handle myself.”

 

Douglas nodded. “If any sub can, you can. I’ve never met anyone like you.” He cut himself off, worrying he’d gone too far. Martin hadn’t formally identified himself as a sub, after all – what if he was a switch? Would he be offended?

 

But Martin looked gratified. “That’s… nice of you to say.”

 

Douglas decided to take his courage in both hands. “I’ve enjoyed getting to know you this week.”

 

“You too,” Martin interrupted, blurting the words out before Douglas could finish. “I mean – I’ve liked it too. _God_.” He rubbed a hand over his forehead in embarrassment, which Douglas found stupidly charming.

 

“I don’t suppose –“ Douglas carried on, feeling his heart quicken slightly in apprehension. “I don’t suppose you’d like to get a drink? Sometime?” He laughed nervously, his dominance seeming to desert him just when he felt as if he needed it most. “I mean – you’re right, you have bought me an awful lot of coffee this week. Seems only fair for me to repay the favour.”

 

Martin hesitated. Douglas’ heart was in his mouth. “Um. Yes,” Martin said, eventually, looking as insecure as Douglas felt. “That would be… nice.”

 

Douglas gave a sigh of relief. “Good.” He reached to squeeze Martin’s knee again, but before he could then Martin was out of the car door.

 

The steward bent down to speak through the window. “It’ll have to wait – the drink – I’m afraid. I’m quite… busy, for the next few days.”

 

“That’s fine. Whenever suits you.” Douglas was a little bewildered by Martin’s skittishness.

 

“Thanks for the lift.”

 

“No problem.” Douglas smiled at him, and was relieved when Martin beamed back. “See you next week.”

 

“See you.” Martin waved, and then stepped backwards. He seemed to be waiting for Douglas to pull away – a shame, as Douglas would have been curious to see which house was his. He shifted into gear and smoothly departed, casting a glance back at the dwindling figure in his mirror. Martin was definitely a mystery. But – Douglas had to admit to himself – he was a mystery that Douglas was nothing if not keen to try and solve.


	4. Chapter 4

Douglas rolled into work half an hour late for his next shift. It was partly a matter of principle – his fascination with Martin had led to him being consistently on time the previous week, and he didn’t want to raise Carolyn’s expectations of him – and partly the fact that he was in no hurry to welcome Adam back from his holiday. He hadn’t heard from Martin all weekend, and he really wasn’t relishing the thought of having to witness their captain’s renewed efforts to mock and belittle the sub Douglas was so unduly fascinated with.

 

It came as a total shock, then, when he entered the portacabin to find Adam helping Martin to restock the beverage trolley. He stopped dead, his cheery greeting cut off, and gaped.

 

“Morning, Douglas,” Adam raised a hand in apparent welcome, looking more friendly than he had done for months.

 

“Hello.” Martin nodded at him, Douglas catching the slight disbelief also evident in the steward’s face. “Good weekend?”

 

“Not bad, thanks.” As Adam turned back to the miniatures, Douglas raised his eyebrows questioningly at Martin. Martin simply shrugged, and went back to loading the trolley.

 

Douglas slouched over to his desk and sat down, mind reeling at the scene unfolding before him. “Where’s Arthur? Wasn’t he due back today?”

 

“He’s got a cold,” Martin replied.

 

Adam chipped in. “Carolyn’s taking him home. He tried his best to start work today, but then he sneezed all over the meals, and so…”

 

Martin interrupted with a laugh. “So she marched him to the car and forced him back to bed.” Martin wasn’t looking, but Douglas caught it – a hastily concealed flicker of vicious annoyance across Adam’s face at Martin’s interjection. He frowned, the unease that had been swirling inside him since finding Adam appearing to help out suddenly clamouring at the front of his brain.

 

He didn’t have time to mull it over much further however, as Carolyn stormed back into the portacabin at that moment, resembling a grumpy whirlwind. “Douglas – you’re late. Where’s my load sheet, where’s the flight plan? Mr Alyakhin will be here in ten minutes, come on, come on, come on!”

 

She turned to see Adam transferring the final bottles to the trolley. “Adam?” Her mouth dropped open. “What on _earth_ are you doing?”

 

 _So it wasn’t Carolyn who told him to help_ , Douglas mused, worried for reasons he couldn’t clearly define.

 

Adam shrugged. “Thought I’d lend a hand.” He crossed back to his desk. “I’ll go and file the flight plan, then.” He picked up the documentation, and headed off to the tower.

 

As the door closed, Douglas sneaked a look at Martin again and was gratified to meet his eyes – Martin had been doing the same. They exchanged a look of mutual confusion, but then –

 

“Douglas! Load sheet! _Now_!”

 

* * *

 

“Post-take-off checks complete, captain.”

 

“Thank you, Douglas.” Adam sat back in his seat, looking more relaxed than Douglas had ever seen him.

 

“Good holiday, then, was it?” Douglas couldn’t help but probe.

 

Adam nodded. “Oh, yes. Very… _interesting_.” He smirked to himself, but Douglas couldn’t see the joke.

 

“Glad to hear it.”

 

“And you? How did you two get on?”

 

Douglas glanced out of the corner of his eye, but Adam was looking straight ahead – the question didn’t seem loaded. “Very well. Smooth flights, good company – you know.”

 

“Good, good.” Adam nodded, and reached for the radio to communicate with ATC. Douglas was utterly baffled. Adam had never before missed a chance to jibe at Martin. It was as if he’d been replaced with a whole other person during his time away. And Douglas didn’t dare enquire what had precipitated such a total change of heart – the pleasantly gratified expression on Martin’s face when Adam said a polite ‘thank you’ for his tea as it was handed to him meant Douglas didn’t like to do anything that might shatter this odd, fragile peace between the two of them.

 

Douglas’ puzzlement only grew over the course of the following week. Adam seemed to have undergone a total personality transplant – at least as far as Martin was concerned. Adam was still just as impatient with Arthur as he’d always been, was still as disinclined to polite chit-chat with Douglas; but he was being downright _charming_ to the head steward he’d previously appeared to despise. Douglas observed in bewilderment as Adam helped Martin restock the cupboards, pulled out Martin’s chair at the hotel breakfast table, held doors for him as politely and solicitously as if the two of them were a top and a sub from fifty years before.

 

Martin was evidently as perplexed by the attention as Douglas was, at first; more than once their eyes met across the flight deck, confused glances being exchanged as Adam was once again polite or thoughtful towards Martin. Rather than relaxing into this new state of peacefulness and harmony, though, Douglas grew increasingly tense as the week wore on. He _knew_ Adam. This didn’t feel right.

 

Martin, however, seemed to gradually accept Adam’s intentions as genuine. He began laughing with the captain, sharing jokes, even accepting the offer of a lift home from him one night.

 

Douglas managed to grab Martin as Adam went to fetch his car keys from the office. “Martin,” he said, urgently. “Are you sure? I can drive you, if you want?” He felt inexplicably anxious.

 

Martin’s eyes were bright and clear. “No, thank you. It’s fine. Really kind of you.” He smiled, and ducked his head. “But Adam says he’s going my way anyway.”

 

“OK.” Douglas let Martin walk off, unease curling slimily in his stomach. He watched Adam call Martin out to the car park, saw the toothy grin the captain offered with a shudder. That smile was altogether too… shark-ish for Douglas’ liking.

 

The next morning, Douglas made an effort to arrive on time, hoping to catch Martin before Adam made an appearance. To his dismay, though, the two of them arrived together – Adam had clearly offered Martin a lift again. And the following night – and the night after that… Adam seemed to have turned himself into Martin’s own private taxi service. Douglas couldn’t account for it. And he _hated_ not being able to explain Adam's actions.

 

MJN’s hectic schedule meant it was three days before Douglas managed to grab a private chat with the steward. He seized his opportunity while Adam completed a walk-round in the pouring Portuguese rain at Lisbon.

 

“How are things?”

 

Martin glanced up, surprised. He’d only popped in to the cockpit to report that the passengers were all loaded. “Oh, fine, thanks.” He beamed at Douglas. “Much happier.”

 

“Good.” Douglas offered him a smile in return, unable to resist Martin’s infectious grin.

 

Before he could think of how to continue, an idea suddenly seemed to strike Martin. “We never arranged that drink, did we?” Martin’s expression was abruptly shy, but the sight of his nerves made Douglas’ heart flutter pleasantly.

 

Shoving thoughts of their captain aside, he reached out to brush the back of Martin’s hand. “We didn’t. Do you want to?”

 

“Yes,” Martin nodded. “Sorry. I’ve been really busy – and –“

 

But before he could finish his sentence, Adam appeared behind him in the doorway. Martin had his back to the door, but Douglas caught a glimpse of Adam’s narrowed eyes at finding the two of them in such close proximity, before his face became suspiciously bland as Martin turned round. “Ready?” Adam looked between the two of them expectantly.

 

“Ready.” Douglas allowed his hand to fall back into his lap. “As long as you were happy with the walk-round, of course.”

 

“Yes, yes.” Adam squeezed impatiently past Martin to get to his seat, and Douglas had to stem a flood of irrational jealousy as the captain pressed up against the steward to do so. “Go and get the cabin secured, Martin.” Adam seemed to catch himself. “Please,” he added, softening the brusqueness of the command. Douglas reeled internally. He'd never, ever heard Adam say please to a  _sub_ before.  _What on earth's going on?_

 

Martin was already halfway out of the door. “Aye, sir,” he called back, sounding untroubled. “Come on, Arthur…” His voice faded as the cockpit door closed after him.

 

Douglas began flicking the controls that would bring GERTI to life. “You giving him a lift home, tonight?” He tried to keep his voice casual, some instinct urging him to conceal how much he was interested in the response.

 

Adam seemed surprised. “Yes,” he answered, shortly. “Why?”

 

Douglas shrugged. “Just thought I’d offer him one, otherwise.”

 

Adam shook his head, jerking his chin haughtily high. “It’s fine. He said he’d help me with the paperwork.”

 

Douglas was stunned. “You’re accepting _his_ help?”

 

“Of course. He’s perfectly capable.”

 

“You’ve changed your tune,” Douglas muttered, but under his breath.

 

“What was that?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

Adam eyed him coldly for a moment. “Let’s go, then.”

 

“Let’s.”

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t until he got home that night that Douglas realized with a surge of annoyance that he’d left the book he’d been reading on his desk in the portacabin. He’d borrowed it from Phil, and had promised to return it in time for the weekend – if he wanted to finish reading it, his only chance was that night. He’d been so preoccupied thinking about Martin offering to help Adam that he’d completely forgotten to pick it up. Grumbling to himself, he turned around and headed back to his car, setting out again for the airfield.

 

He was a little surprised to spot the lights still on when he arrived, until he remembered that – _of course_ – Martin and Adam would still be ploughing through the endless forms that the CAA required for each trip. Perhaps he could rescue Martin – offer to drop him home. _Perhaps we could go for that drink_. His step picked up more springily, and he hummed a few jaunty notes to himself as he approached the door.

 

The tune died in his throat as he put his hand on the doorknob, though. The door had a glass panel at head height, giving Douglas a clear view into the lit-up office from his position in the dark of the early evening outside. Martin and Adam were still there, as he’d suspected, but – Douglas’ breath caught painfully in his throat – Martin was… Martin was…

 

Martin was on his knees to Adam, staring up at him.

 

Douglas’ mouth fell open. He couldn’t see Martin’s face – the steward’s back was towards him. But Adam – he could see every trace of the triumph, the dominance written over Adam’s cruelly handsome features. He felt sick.

 

His first thought was that Adam was forcing Martin, had dommed him again without his consent, and for a second he nearly burst through the door, ready to throttle the captain without another thought, _mine mine mine_ ringing through his brain.

 

But then rationality caught up with him. Adam had never managed to dom Martin before – surely he’d never succeed in driving such a resistant sub to his knees? Adam hadn’t got a hand on him –

 

Except that then Adam reached out, and he _did_ have a hand on Martin – stroking two fingers down Martin’s cheek – Douglas’ stomach lurched. Adam was saying something, though Douglas couldn’t make out what – and Martin was lowering his head, wasn’t pulling away –

 

Douglas staggered backwards. _No_. He forced himself back to the car park, forced himself not to do anything he might regret. His last glimpse of Martin through the window had been of the submissive shiver rippling through the steward at the superiorly grinning Adam’s touch – the kind of shiver _he’d_ fantasised about provoking in the sub for weeks, now.

 

 _How could he_? He fumbled with his car keys, his numb fingers clumsy in his befuddlement. The fob fell to the ground, and rage suddenly exploded inside him, a wounded lion’s roar of hurt and anger and _pain_.

 

_How could you? How could you?_

 

He kicked the tyres, again and again. It was ten minutes before he could master himself enough to drive home.


	5. Chapter 5

That evening was one of the most miserable of Douglas’ life. He never knew how he’d got to his house – almost greeting his driveway with surprise as he pulled into it, so distracted had he been. The hideous emptiness that he’d experienced on the occasion of each of his divorces was echoing hollowly inside him – he felt gouged out, his useless, rejected dominance hungrily unsatisfied. What was the point of a top with no-one to care for? With no one to love and cherish and watch over?

 

Douglas hadn’t realized just how deeply his growing feelings for Martin had made a home for themselves in his chest, stoppering the pain that had drained almost constantly through him since Helena abandoned their home and flitted off with the t’ai chi instructor. And now that his feelings were clearly unreciprocated, he didn’t know how to cope. None of the aches of his previous separations had hurt like this, and yet Martin wasn’t even his – had _never_ been his, he tried to remind himself, to no avail.

 

Douglas slumped on his sofa, buried his head in his hands, and sat awake, long into the night.

 

* * *

 

The following few days at MJN were strained, to say the least. Douglas did his best not to let Martin see how much the few seconds he’d caught of that liaison with Adam were bothering him; he brushed off the steward’s attempts at friendly conversation, to Martin’s clear bewilderment. With Adam, he was barely civil – no longer bothering to hide the contemptuousness behind his just-adequately-polite remarks. Douglas couldn’t remember a more frigid flight deck atmosphere; but he was too caught up in his own trampled heart to care.

 

Adam’s response was characteristically arrogant. He registered Douglas’ altered attitude, and seemed to positively revel in it. He called Martin up to the cockpit at least twice a flight, glorying in bossing the steward around and flaunting the newly submissive bowing of Martin’s head at every demand. Douglas caught a glimpse of Martin’s face at one point as he fled the flight deck to go and retrieve Adam’s tea: it was taut and miserable, and Martin opened his mouth as if to say something when he met Douglas’ eyes.

 

But despite an initial twinge of reflexive anxiety and reciprocal distress, Douglas hardened his heart, and turned away. If Martin was unhappy, it was up to his dom to sort him out. Or Arthur; Martin seemed friendly with the boy. Douglas wasn’t prepared to offer sympathy for any sadness arising from Martin’s poor choices. Why, _why_ was Martin so naïve as to believe that Adam would prove a more worthy dom than him, Douglas? A few days of good behaviour would surely never suffice to make up for the hell Adam had put Martin through at the start of his employment, and yet Martin had fallen over himself to kneel before the captain. When he’d already promised Douglas a drink. He’d _promised_.

 

Douglas growled internally, the dominant in him raging once more at the injustice. No matter how much he tried to be logical, to tell himself that Martin wasn’t his sub, that the steward had made him no promises, hadn’t submitted to him and certainly wasn’t _collared_ , the irrational, animal part of his brain overrode the reasoning. Martin was meant for him, in a way no one – not any of his three wives – had ever been before. He knew it, to the very depths of his soul – and had thought Martin might have begun to feel the same. And Adam had swooped in and stolen him. _What does he have that I don’t?_ Douglas raged silently.

 

 _Adam’s younger. He’s attractive. He’s a_ captain _and you’re just an FO – a 56 year old FO_ , his brain reminded him, uncharacteristic ignominy prickling through him, pins and needles of the mind. _Perhaps Martin thinks Adam will advance his career._ A flood of sickening jealousy caused him to clench his hands round the yoke. _Surely not. Martin wouldn’t be so shallow… would he?_

 

The plane flew on, and the same repetitive thoughts and resentments whirled through Douglas’ mind, a hideous carnival carousel of misery and envy and bitterness.

 

* * *

 

That evening, Martin scurried off early, so quietly that Douglas wasn’t even aware that he’d left until he followed Arthur’s worried gaze. He turned just in time to see the door swinging closed behind the chief steward. Another jolt of anxiety twitched within him, but he tried to squash it – _not your concern_. But Arthur waylaid him.

 

“Douglas?”

 

“Mmm?” Douglas shrugged on his coat, attempting to ignore his slightly quickened pulse.

 

Arthur looked furtively over his shoulder, and Douglas knew for whom he was checking. _Adam_. Finding the portacabin empty, Arthur carried on. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Martin’s… different, lately.”

 

Douglas gave a terse nod, unwilling to speak in case he gave away the turbulent emotions churning within him.

 

“And Adam is too.” The captain’s name was whispered, Arthur’s nervousness about being overheard making itself plain. “Do you know what’s going on?”

 

Douglas’ hands stilled at his neck, abandoning the attempt to knot his scarf. He wondered what to say. “I think Martin is… Adam’s, now,” he said eventually, the pain of acknowledging it jabbing at him.

 

Arthur’s eyes went wide. “He can’t be.”

 

“He is.” Resignation sat heavy in Douglas’ voice.

 

“No, no, no.” Arthur shook his head firmly. “Martin looks… terrified of Adam now. He never did before.”

 

“So? Surely you know some tops like their subs that way.”

 

“But Martin would never be like that.”

 

“Grow up, Arthur.” In his unhappiness, Douglas was more savage than he’d intended. He checked himself. “I mean – you can’t know how Martin would be in a relationship. Couplings…. They change people. You know.”

 

“But they’re supposed to change people in a _good_ way.” Arthur seemed even more concerned than before. “Martin’s… he’s _scared_ of Adam. Genuinely. Not playfully. He drops things now when Adam walks past. And his hands shake when Adam comes in. Surely you’ve noticed?”

 

Douglas was ashamed to realize that no, he hadn’t. He’d been far too busy nursing his own broken heart to remark on Martin’s reactions to Adam’s presence – in truth, had deliberately avoided looking their way for fear of catching any looks of devotion that might pass between them – a blissful new dom and sub in the honeymoon of their relationship. He shook his head, slowly.

 

Arthur frowned. “I’m really, really worried. Even _Mum_ thinks there’s something not right.”

 

“She said that to you?”

 

“No. But I can tell. You know I went on that course to understand people in Ipswich –“

 

Douglas held up a hand. “I believe you.” A chill descended on him. If Martin really was _afraid_ – then what did that mean? “But Arthur… he’d never let Adam dom him without permission,” he argued, though half-heartedly. “I saw him on the flight deck the other week – he managed to throw off Adam’s command voice. I’ve never seen a sub do anything like it.”

 

Arthur shrugged, worriedly. “I don’t know what’s going on. But _something_ is.” He looked pleadingly at Douglas. “Fix it. Please. You get on - _got_ on so well with him. And now you’re ignoring him. I think it’s making him really unhappy.”

 

Douglas shuddered inside. After the agony of losing three collared subs in the past, he didn’t know if he was strong enough to confront his wounded feelings for Martin by trying to simply be his friend…

 

Abruptly, though, he was ashamed of his weakness. He’d always prided himself on being a good dom, one who put subs’ wellbeing first, and yet here he was considering the coward’s route. His mind was made up. “I’ll go after him.” Douglas turned on his heel, headed for the door. “I might manage to catch him – speak to him –“ Not bothering to finish his sentence, he strode towards the car park.

 

But Martin had already gone, only a dry oval on the otherwise wet tarmac showing where his car had been.

 

* * *

 

Douglas found it impossible to sleep that night, brooding over the dark implications of Arthur’s nebulous suspicions. At 6am, he gave it up as a bad job, and headed for the airfield. Their morning flight wasn’t till 8, but he could always go and rest in the peace of the portacabin before everyone else arrived at 7. He hated his empty house – his empty bed...

 

Averting his mind from such miserable thoughts, he arrived at the car park, and was surprised – and not best pleased – to see Adam’s car already there. Part of him considered turning straight round and returning home, but then his pride convinced him to cut off the engine. There was no _way_ he’d let the captain impel him to be anywhere other than exactly where he intended to be.

 

He approached the portacabin, stowing his keys in his coat pocket, but then realized with a start that both of GERTI’s doors were open, front and rear. Adam was on the plane? Why? Curiosity drew him nearer. He passed straight through the portacabin and padded quietly over the apron in the half-dark of the winter morning, not even sure why he was creeping.

 

He drew to a halt by the side of the plane’s steps, hesitating. He was about to climb up, but suddenly – voices. Who else was on board? Stepping into GERTI’s shadow, he listened intently.

 

“… Hands and knees, I told you. **Hands and _knees_ , sub**.”

 

“Sir.” _Martin_. Douglas heart stumbled, jealousy a leaden lump in his chest.

 

“Don’t think I don’t see the way you look at me.” A dull thump resounded, as of a chair being smacked. “ _Defiance_. I won’t have it.”

 

“I’m not defiant, I’m not –“

 

“ **Shut up**.” Douglas heard footsteps, recognizing Adam’s hasty, cocky gait. “Don’t treat me like a fool. **Clean up that mess**. Do as I say.” There was a long, heavy pause, before Adam continued. “Or do you want me to tell him?”

 

“Tell who?”

 

Another thump. “Don’t play innocent." Douglas could practically see the sneer on Adam's face. "I’ve seen how you look at him. It’s _pathetic_. Do you think a dom like Douglas – even someone that useless, one who can’t hang on to a sub to save his life – would look twice at _you_?”

 

Rage, hot, powerful, swamped Douglas so rapidly that he finally understood the expression ‘red mist’. The airfield blurred before him and his hands were in fists without a second thought. He set a foot on the stairs, but before he could thunder up, he realized Martin was speaking again.

 

“Don’t talk about him like that.”

 

“ **Get on your knees.** ” There were scuffled steps now. “Or I’ll tell him. I’ll tell Carolyn. You’ll be out of the sky so fast you’ll wish you’d learnt to parachute.”

 

“I don’t _care_.”

 

“ **Your KNEES!** ” Adam’s voice was a panicky roar, Douglas was gratified to note. Curiosity kept him hesitating, in spite of his anger. _What did Adam know_? Arthur’s observations were detachedly, sickeningly, beginning to make hideous sense –

 

“ _NO_.” Martin’s voice was trembling. “I won’t, I won’t – _get away from me_!” His voice was frightened now, and Douglas stealthily hastened up the stairs, still listening for all he was worth –

 

Adam’s tirade was delivered at full volume. “Like I’d fuck _you_ , you’re broken, you’re not – Douglas!”

 

Douglas had burst on to the plane, taking in the scene before him at a glance. Adam was facing him, had seen his rushed entrance and was gaping in shock. But Martin had his back turned, and of course – he hadn’t heard him come in, his cochlear implant not sensitive enough to detect the noise he’d made. Martin didn’t know he was there…

 

“Douglas?” Martin shouted, a half-hysterical sob, shaking from head to foot. “Taunt me all you like, but don’t you dare use his name, don’t you dare – he’s worth ten of you, twenty, a hundred – here’s what I think of you, you _fuck_.”

 

And he spat in Adam’s face.

 

Instantly Adam’s rage refocused. Douglas took a step forward – could see in his mind’s eye what was going to happen – but he was too far away. Adam’s fist flew up, caught Martin’s jaw, the _crack_ of the blow resounding as shatteringly as a gunshot. Martin’s slight frame offered no resistance to such force. As if it were happening in slow motion, Douglas saw Martin fly sideways and hurled himself uselessly forwards to try and abort the fall – but he was too late. The side of Martin’s head struck one of the seats with a sickening _crunch_ , and he crumpled insensate to the ground, Douglas’ shouted ‘No!’ dying in the air between them.

 

“I didn’t mean to –“ Adam’s face was white and shocked as Douglas leapt at him. “You heard – he insulted –“

 

Douglas had never head-butted anyone in his life. But there couldn’t have been a better time to start. He heard Adam’s wail as his forehead connected – even dimly registered the spatter of hot blood from the stocky captain’s nose over his hand grabbing Adam's shirtfront – but his mind was focused on Martin, curled on the floor behind him. He sprang back, and crouched over the slumped sub, adopting an almost feral posture of protectiveness over his boy. _Mine_. _Mine_.

 

“Get out,” he growled, staring furiously at Adam. “Never come back. _Never_.”

 

Adam’s mouth worked uselessly for a second, looking as if he might speak. At another growl from Douglas, though, he turned tail, and ran for the rear doors. Douglas watched him flee, making certain he entered the portacabin (just visible through the windows) before he at last relaxed fractionally.

 

Gently he fell to kneel beside Martin, touching an anguished fingertip to the blossoming bruise on the pale jawline. Martin’s face was hot, for all its pallor – his face was still frightened and twisted even in his unconsciousness. Desperately, Douglas felt under his hair, his fingers coming away bloody. A sickening lurch of terror swam through him.

 

“Martin, Martin, wake up.” Frantically, he chafed his shoulder. “Please. Martin. _Martin_.”

 

He’d only known such paralyzing fear once before – when Emily had fallen from a climbing frame, and he’d not caught her. The whole world seemed slowed to a halt, his entire being willing Martin to awaken.

 

A clattering behind him drew his attention. Carolyn had huffed her way up the steps on to the plane. “Douglas, what on earth – _Martin!_ ” Carolyn’s mouth was a gape of horror. “What –“

 

Before she could get any further, Douglas replied. “It was Adam. Call an ambulance.”

 

Carolyn seemed transfixed. “Adam? _Adam_?”

 

“Ambulance, Carolyn. **Now!** ” Douglas had never used his command voice on her before, but it worked. Carolyn fled from the plane, her short legs carrying her as fast as she could go.

 

Unbelievably, Douglas felt Martin stir slightly in his arms. He looked down sharply, and an idea occurred. “ **Wake up, Martin**.” It had been so long since he’d employed this tone – gentle dominance flowing inexorably out from him in such a way that suddenly his empty heart was overflowing. “ **Wake up**.”

 

Martin’s eyelids fluttered, then slid open – Douglas felt weak with relief. “Martin. Martin, Martin.” He tugged Martin closer to him, rocked back and forth until he felt the steward flinch. He drew back, pushed a curl out of his boy’s eyes. “What hurts?”

 

Martin’s eyes were confused. “What?”

 

“What hurts?” Douglas fought the urge to envelop him in his arms again. “Where are you sore?”

 

“Douglas?” Martin sounded bewildered.

 

“It’s me. I’m here. I won’t leave, I promise, I promise –“

 

“Douglas.” Martin’s voice stopped him. “I can’t hear you. I can’t –“ Fear filled Martin’s face, sudden awareness dawning. “I can’t hear. Douglas, Douglas, _Douglas_ –“

 

Distant sirens were wailing, the high-pitched sound harmonizing with Douglas’ terror. Fumbling, he felt gently round Martin’s head, trying to ignore the slick stickiness of warm blood trickling beneath his fingers. His heart sank as he found it – Martin’s implant. The impact –

 

“Martin – you hit your head.” He tried to keep his voice steady, whether Martin could hear it or no. He realized Martin was staring at his mouth, and for a second worried he was delirious.

 

“I hit my head?”

 

 _Of course_. Douglas knew himself for a fool. Martin was lip-reading. “Yes.” He tried to form his words slowly, clearly. “Adam hit you. Do you remember?”

 

“Yes.” Martin’s eyes were troubled, and on instinct, Douglas caressed his unbruised cheek. For a second, Martin’s eyes flickered shut.

 

“Hey.” Douglas pinched his arm lightly, and the steward’s eyelids opened again. “Don’t sleep. You’re on duty in a minute, remember?”

 

Martin smiled, and nodded, wincing. “You’re here.” Even injured, he sounded disbelieving.

 

“I’m here.” Douglas nodded, and cursed himself – his stupidity, his self-doubt - a thousand times over. “I’m not going.”

 

“Stay.” Martin grabbed at him desperately.

 

“Shh,” Douglas soothed. “I’m here. I’m yours. I’m not going.”

 

“Yours.” Martin’s eyes closed again, and Douglas heard feet pounding up the steps. Green uniforms and barked questions filled the world, but his entire consciousness was wrapped round the small, ginger, _brilliant, brave_ man being bundled tenderly on to a trolley, and whipped off to hospital, Douglas never once loosing his clutching hand.


	6. Chapter 6

“Martin? Can you hear me?” Douglas chafed Martin’s wrist anxiously, realising even as he asked that it was a stupid, idiotic question. It was four hours later, and Martin had been examined by a fleet of doctors. For the most part, he’d drifted in and out of consciousness, and Douglas had hovered over him every second he was able, not sure whether Martin was sleeping or… something worse.

 

Martin’s eyes slid open at the touch of Douglas’ hand.  “Hi.” His voice was soft, but he managed a weak smile.

 

“How are you feeling?” They were on a ward now, and the nurses were bending the rules, allowing Douglas to remain by the steward’s side. They’d taken Martin to be his sub and he’d deliberately not corrected them – knowing a mere colleague would have been sent away by now.

 

Martin’s gaze tracked the movement of his mouth. “Achy. Head hurts.” He tried to raise a hand to where Adam’s blow had fallen, but winced in surprise – there was a drip running into the back of his knuckles.

 

Douglas saw the flinch and hastened to explain. “They popped that in just after you arrived. You’re on the good stuff, painkiller-wise.” He attempted to smile, but the effort twisted with the nauseating guilt inside him. Martin surprised him by closing his fingers round Douglas’ palm in comfort.

 

“Did they say…” Martin sounded nervous, now, his speech harder to understand without the help of the implant to assist him. “Did they tell you what’s the matter? Why I can’t hear anymore?”

 

Douglas shook his head, trying not to register the way his heart beat faster at the feeling of Martin’s hand in his. “Just waiting for the audiologists. Do you remember going in the scanner?” He’d had to be separated from Martin, then, but that was the only time they’d been apart – he’d used the time to phone Carolyn with an update, frantically conveying the little the hospital had told him, paying little attention to her combination of concern for their steward and grumpiness at the enforcedly cancelled flight.

 

“I don’t remember, really…” Martin’s face crumpled. “It’s all a bit – blurry.”

 

“Of course,” Douglas hastened to reassure him. “That was quite the knock you took.”

 

“Douglas – Douglas, I –“ Martin grimaced.

 

“What?” Douglas leant forward anxiously.

 

“I – I –“ Martin had gone white, to Douglas’ concern. “I’m going to be sick –“

 

Douglas barely had time to leap for the nurses before Martin had leant over the side of the bed and hurled, horrid retching noises emanating from him. Medical staff came hurrying in, a nurse gently but firmly shifting Douglas aside in order to tend to the patient. It took a few minutes before they were satisfied that the nausea had abated and the two men were alone again.

 

Martin looked mortified. “I’m so sorry. Douglas, I’m so, _so_ sorry –“

 

“Hey.” Douglas clasped Martin’s cold hands in his warmer palms. “It’s normal, for a concussion. You don’t have to apologise.”

 

“No, no,” Martin babbled, seeming unable to meet Douglas’ eyes. “I’m sorry – for the plane. What happened.” He paused, before gasping out in apparent anguish “My fault. It’s my fault.”

 

Douglas was flabbergasted. “What on earth – Martin. He _hit_ you. It’s not –“

 

Martin interrupted. “You don’t understand.” He hesitated again, seeming to struggle with his words.

 

Douglas shook his head as firmly as he could manage, gripping Martin’s hands tight. “No dom has any right to treat any sub that way, especially one who isn’t theirs in the first place –“

 

“I know, I know. But that’s not why…” Martin trailed off.

 

All at sea, Douglas tried to guess. “If it’s because of your –“ He gestured futilely – “disability, that’s even _worse_. You didn’t invite it – he was abusing you, for Christ’s sake.” He was alarmed to see a tear trickling down Martin’s cheek. “Is it hurting?”

 

“Yes,” Martin whispered.

 

“I’ll call the nurses back –“ Douglas reached for the call bell, but Martin grabbed at his wrist, stopping him. Douglas tried to ignore the way he flinched away immediately after, as though expecting a dom’s reprieve for his impudence.

 

“Not – not _physical_ pain. I hurt… here.” Martin settled a fluttery hand over his heart. “I’m no good at talking about this… no good… no good…” His words died away in a sigh, and his eyes closed.  Douglas could see the line in his hand had just received a fresh pulse of painkillers – Martin was sleeping. He sat back, more troubled than he had been in years.

 

* * *

 

It took another couple of hours before the consultant came to see Martin. She was a buxom lady with owlish glasses and a warm smile that Douglas took to immediately, her lilting Scottish accent seeming comforting and reassuring. “Hello, I’m Dr Fothergill,” she greeted him softly. “How’s the patient?”

 

“Sleeping, mostly.” Douglas gently nudged Martin’s arm to awaken him, ignoring the warm rush inside as Martin stirred and sleepily mumbled his name – ‘ _D’glas, Douglas –_ ‘ before coming fully back to consciousness.

 

“S’happening?” Martin blinked at the doctor before looking back at Douglas.

 

“This is the consultant, Martin.”

 

“Consultant?”

 

The doctor stepped forward, putting herself in Martin’s line of sight. She reached for his hand and shook it. “I’ve been having a look over your scans, Mr Crieff.”

 

Martin twitched nervously. “I can’t hear.”

 

“I know.” She flipped through the chart she was holding. “My junior colleagues took your history in A&E, and we’ve scanned your head and your implant. I’m afraid I’ve both good and bad news.” Douglas tensed up, clutching his hands compulsively to the bedspread. “The good news is there’s no permanent damage to your head. No bleeding on the brain, no skull fracture. You’ve sustained a concussion, of course, and you’ll have headaches and probably nausea to deal with, but we’d think those would die down soon enough - within a few days.”

 

“What’s the bad news?” Martin’s voice was thicker than sometimes, Douglas registered again, though whether this was through emotion or the lack of hearing aid, he couldn’t tell.

 

“Your implant.” The doctor cleared her throat. “It’s broken – we’ll have to remove it. It looks like it took the brunt of the impact when you were knocked over.” A frown clouded her face with a touch of anger for a second, but then it was gone, her professional façade reasserting itself.

 

“Can you fix it?” Douglas asked, but realized Martin would have missed the question. He touched him lightly on the arm before the doctor could reply. “I was just asking if it could be fixed,” he explained, once Martin looked at him. Martin nodded, gazing anxiously back at the consultant.

 

She hesitated. “Yes,” she replied, slowly. “But I’m afraid we’ll have to wait six months, to give you a chance to heal properly.”

 

“Six months?” Douglas said, horror-struck. Martin stared hard at the bed, not responding.

 

“Yes,” Doctor Fothergill responded. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Back to lip-reading,” Martin mumbled, his words more indistinct than Douglas had ever heard them.

 

“Martin.” She put her hand on his for a moment, drawing his attention. “I am sorry. But it’s temporary. We will fix it. Just give us time.” She gave him a reassuring smile. “You’ll need surgery in a week or two to remove the broken device, but the recovery from that shouldn’t be too arduous. If it’s any consolation, you should only need to be in hospital for one night now, just for observation. Then you can go home, before coming back for the op.”

 

Martin nodded, mutely. Douglas watched him, anxiety rising at the numb expression on his face. “Thank you,” he said to the doctor, who left with a nod.

 

“Six months.” Martin turned to look at Douglas. “Carolyn.”

 

“She’ll wait.” Douglas was fierce. “By God, she’ll wait. You’re the best chief steward she could have wished for.”

 

Martin looked unconvinced. “I’ve caused so much trouble.”

 

“Not you.” Douglas shook his head violently. “ _Never_ you.”

 

“You don’t know.”

 

“What?” Douglas was frantic with fretfulness, now. “ _What_ don’t I know?”

 

But Martin only slipped down again in the bed, taking Douglas’ hand and holding it to his cheek. An expression of longing slipped across his features that made the dominant in Douglas cry out to assuage the ache apparent in Martin’s soul – an ache that was mirroring his own emptiness.

 

“It’s OK,” he said softly, and took all his daring in his hands to press a kiss to Martin’s knuckles, relieved when the boy didn't flinch at his touch. “You don’t have to tell me, if you’re not ready.”

 

Martin relaxed slightly. “ _You_ don’t have to stay, if you don’t want,” he whispered.

 

Douglas kissed his hand again, feeling Martin’s palm flex in his. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else.” He paused for a second. “You’re sure there’s no one you’d like me to call?” He’d asked three times already, but Martin had been insistent that he didn’t want to worry his family.

 

“No. There’s no one else I’d rather – I mean –“ Martin blushed, colour rushing to his pale cheeks, the embarrassed flush doing something alarming to Douglas’ heart rate. Unthinkingly, he reached to brush his thumb along Martin’s jaw as the steward stammered to find an end to his blurted sentence. "I - I -"

 

“Shh, it's OK. We're OK,” Douglas soothed. “I just didn’t want you to feel alone.”

 

Martin smiled a little. “I definitely don’t.”  He leant into Douglas’ soft touch fractionally and shut his eyes, a quiet sigh escaping him. Douglas took the opportunity just to watch him: the long eyelashes fluttering against freckly cheeks... the remaining trace of blood at the hairline… Douglas’ stomach clenched once more. 

 

He’d thought Martin might fall back to sleep, but something seemed to be troubling the sub. “Where is… he?” Martin asked, after a few minutes’ silence – apparently their thoughts had been running in a similar direction. Douglas knew exactly who he meant.

 

“He ran off. I haven’t seen him since.” He knew his face had darkened, felt again the furious churning of rage in his chest. “He’s never coming near you, not ever, _ever_ again.”

 

“Thank you.” Martin shivered briefly, and Douglas thrilled as a thin finger stroked tremulously down his arm, sending ticklish comfort through him. “We never… we never did get that coffee, did we?”

 

“There’s time, still.” Douglas smiled. “Lots of time.”

 

“Good.” Martin’s eyes looked heavy again. “Good.”

 

Douglas’ heart felt as though it would burst through his chest at the sight of the boy - drowsy, relaxed… trusting. “Sleep,” he commanded, infusing his voice with just a touch of an order; and whether he could hear the dominant edict or not, Martin obeyed. His muscles relaxing all at once, he slipped off into slumber, while Douglas kept watch at his side.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the wait - RL getting in the way. I'll try not to make the gap so long before the next update!
> 
> Thanks are due to vinyl-octopus, hildyj and linguini17 for much appreciated editing assistance with one particularly stubborn sentence. They are all super-duper awesome :)

“You’re certain?” Martin hovered in the doorway, apparently afraid to cross the threshold into Douglas’ house.

 

Douglas just barely resisted burying his head in his hands at the hundredth posing of the question, turning instead to encourage Martin forward. “Come in.” He held out a hand to usher him inwards, and at long last, Martin stepped inside, rubbing one arm nervously with his other hand.

 

They’d come their closest ever to an argument on Martin’s discharge from the hospital. The doctor had agreed to release the steward on the condition that he not go home alone, that he remain somewhere where someone could keep an eye on him for a few days. Douglas had turned up to visit just as Martin had been smoothly fibbing to the consultant that he shared his house with friends; Douglas knew perfectly well (having just been to Martin’s surprisingly tiny studio flat to pick him up some fresh clothes) that he lived alone.

 

He’d managed to wait until the doctor departed before confronting Martin, not wanting to embarrass him; perhaps he had acquaintances in mind that he was going to go and stay with? Douglas was uncomfortably aware that he’d been monopolizing the sub over his two day stay in hospital, purely because it made him so nervy and worried to be away from him – a sensation he detachedly recognized as completely unhealthy, directed as it was towards a boy who was in no way tied to him. But it was too late now; defending Martin in such a physical way had awoken something primordial within Douglas, a deep-rooted drive to nurture, cherish and shield. Douglas was as powerless to stem the tide of feeling as he was to stop the Earth from whirling on its axis.

 

“Where are you going?” he’d asked, trying to disguise burning concern as idle curiosity.

 

Martin had looked up, a touch of guilt just perceptible around the crinkle of his eyes. “Home,” he’d replied, but had ducked his chin.

 

“Alone?” Douglas had tried to keep the indignation from his voice. “The doctor –“

 

“I don’t want to trouble anyone. And I don’t want to stay _here_.”

 

“Come and stay with me.”

 

At that, Martin’s head had snapped up, genuine surprise filling his features. “What?”

 

Douglas had shrugged, still trying to conceal just how much the offer really meant to him. The last thing he wanted to do was to force his feelings on Martin, especially now, right after the sub had had such a traumatic experience of a coercive top. “My house is practically empty with just me in it – you can have my daughter’s room. It’s no bother.”

 

“I couldn’t do that.”

 

“You absolutely can.”

 

Martin had hesitated. Douglas wouldn’t have continued to press the issue, but he had seen the flare of incredulous temptation dart across Martin’s face, and from then on, knew that Martin was simply struggling to follow the social niceties of accepting care from a top he wasn’t bound to. From a friend he hadn’t known for very long. Martin was wavering, and that was enough for Douglas, who’d picked up the sub’s bags, and led him out to the car park.

 

The debate had continued all the way home, with Martin insisting he’d be fine alone; but Douglas had finally, finally got him into his house, and he couldn’t help the warm smile that reflected the odd sense of _rightness_ filling him at the sight of the boy he adored hovering in his hallway. He dropped Martin’s bags, and opened the door to the lounge. “In you go. Tea?”

 

Martin nodded, then winced and touched a hand to the clean dressing covering the stitches at the side of his head. “Please,” he replied, even as Douglas flinched in sympathy. He just about met Douglas’ eyes, then cast his gaze straight back to the carpet before walking meekly into the sitting room and perching himself gingerly on the sofa.

 

Douglas was concerned, worry filling him as he put the kettle on and grabbed two mugs. He’d expect a certain instinctive deference from a sub entering a dom’s home for the first time, especially after Martin’s having been so recently and forcefully topped by the hateful Adam, and then all but won by Douglas in contest of strength; but Martin’s abasement seemed to go deeper than a simple atavistic response to a recent fight over him.There was evidently something deeply troubling him, and Douglas’ mind returned to the memory of Martin’s fretful, aborted attempt at an explanation the night he’d been admitted to hospital.

 

As the tea steeped, he made up his mind; there was something so obviously bothering the steward. He’d give him an opening to talk about it again, in case Martin didn’t feel able to bring it up himself. Perhaps then the poor man would stop looking so hunted and afraid.

 

As it turned out, Douglas didn’t have to raise the subject – his careful consideration of potential subtle introductions to the topic of Martin’s secret all proving unnecessary. As soon as Douglas sat down across the room from him, Martin began to speak, staring hard at the floor as he did so.

 

“I have to tell you something.”

 

“Oh?” Douglas responded, his pulse quickening. Martin looked up after a few seconds, and it took a beat for Douglas to realise that he’d spoken too quickly and out of Martin’s line of sight. “I’m listening,” he said, Martin’s eyes tracking the movement of his lips.

 

Martin shivered and nodded. “I think it’s only… fair,” he mumbled. Douglas still wasn’t used to his less-distinct speaking voice now his cochlear implant was broken, and had to concentrate hard to ensure he didn’t miss anything. “I don’t want you to accept me under – false pretences.” Martin’s eyes were suddenly desperate and he wrung his hands round his mug, blanching the knuckles.

 

At the sight of Martin’s fear, sharp protectiveness surged strongly inside Douglas’ chest. It wasn’t a conscious decision for him to move swiftly to the sofa beside Martin – his legs carried him before he knew what he was doing. “You can tell me anything,” he pleaded, failing to conceal his imploring tones. “I promise –“ He jerked to a stop. He’d sat down next to Martin, but the sub had instantly flinched. Ashamed, Douglas realized what his shift to Martin’s side must look like – a blatant attempt to dominate. He felt sick.

 

“Sorry,” he cringed. “That isn’t – I mean –“ An idea occurred, and he slid to the floor to sit cross-legged at Martin’s feet. Martin’s eyes flew wide.

 

“You don’t have to – what are you –?“

 

“I want you to be comfortable.” Douglas gingerly patted Martin’s knee, making sure to imply nothing other than friendly support with the gesture. “I –“ he hesitated for a second, unsure whether to continue, but decided to be hung for a sheep rather than a lamb. “I can’t stand it, seeing you look so afraid of me.”

 

Martin choked. “I’m sorry.” He hung his head, and Douglas’ mouth involuntarily flooded at the sight of the long, pale neck, vulnerable – _No_. He halted the thought as Martin went on. “I’m not frightened of _you_. Well –“ he stumbled – “except of your… disappointment when I tell you, tell you – what I should.” He stared down at Douglas and shuddered again. “Please – please don’t sit down there. It’s me – I should – oh, _look_.” Martin threw his hands up in apparent frustration at his own incoherence, then drew Douglas up to sit where he originally had on the settee, now leaning into him a little.

 

Douglas allowed himself to be moved, offering no resistance. Feeling Martin pressing voluntarily into him was a comfort – he’d been fretting for days that he was imposing his presence on the sub. Tentatively, he rested his hand back on Martin’s knee, before speaking. “You can tell me anything,” he said quietly.

 

Martin absorbed his words attentively, seeming to find resolve within. He straightened his back, and began to explain.

 

“I’ll tell you everything. You deserve to know. And if – if afterwards you don’t want me, I’ll go. You’ve – you’ve done more than I ever had a right to expect. You don’t owe me anything – the reverse, I can’t repay you, never, never –“ His hands shook.

 

Douglas tried to interrupt with a reassurance, but Martin wouldn’t allow him to. “No. Please let me get it out, or I’ll never say it.” He looked pleadingly at the FO, who nodded reluctantly.

 

Martin took a deep breath. “You must have thought – think – that I’m the worst kind of slut.” His mouth curled in distaste. “I could tell. I hurt you, so much. I _hate_ myself for it.”

 

Douglas couldn’t let that pass. “Never, Martin. No.” He caught the steward’s trembling hands in his.

 

Martin seemed to draw strength from his grip, and carried on. “You should know – it’s my fault. It _is_ ,” he insisted, as Douglas tried to demur. “Adam – yes, he forced me. Nothing sexual,” Martin added hastily, as he felt Douglas’ fists ball round his in rage. “But I gave him that power. I _lied_ , Douglas – lied to get this job.” He darted a glance at the first officer, but immediately averted his eyes. Douglas could feel the shame almost vibrating off the slender body pressed to his side. He didn’t interrupt, but let Martin pause until he felt strong enough to go on.

 

“You asked, once. Where I was before MJN.” Douglas nodded. “I didn’t answer. Because I didn’t – didn’t want to lie to you, not to your face. Not when you’re – you’re –“ Martin stuttered into silence before aborting his train of thought. “My CV says I was at SwissAir. My reference says SwissAir.”

 

“You weren’t?” Douglas asked, though he was unsure whether Martin heard the question – the boy was staring at the tea rather than him.

 

Martin carried on. “I wasn’t. I haven’t flown for nine years. I don’t deserve to be senior steward.” His mouth curled in a mocking, humourless smile. “I barely deserve to be _steward_.”

 

“Do you have _any_ experience?” Douglas drew Martin’s gaze by jogging his leg. “You aren’t brand new to the job. I can tell.”

 

“I _was_ a steward.” Martin flushed crimson. “Nearly a decade ago. After I left school, I finally, finally managed to find a tiny charter company that would hire me - for next to no wages - in spite of my deafness. In spite of the fact that I’m a sub. It paid peanuts, but – oh, Douglas – I could _fly_. When that was all I’d ever wanted to do.” His eyes shone for an instant, and Douglas’ heart turned over _. There you are_ , he wanted to say. _The passionate man I love_ – love? He clasped Martin’s hands tighter unthinkingly.

 

“I don’t understand,” he said, instead. “Why leave?”

 

Martin’s eyes became dead, empty, so rapidly that Douglas wondered if he’d imagined that momentary flash of passion. “My dad.” Martin stared very hard at the ground. “He never really approved. He was… old-fashioned about what subs should and shouldn’t do – and my brother and sister, they’re both tops… so it made him more protective, since I’m the family’s only 'bottom'." Douglas winced at the pejorative term. "Or perhaps it was because I’m deaf – I don’t know.” Martin drew a shuddering breath. “Whichever it was… after I’d been at Panda Charters for six months, my Mum had a heart attack.”

 

“I’m sorry,” said Douglas, softly, seeing Martin’s face twist in pain.

 

“She pulled through, but she wasn’t at all well after that. And my dad – well, he’d always had my Mum looking after him. She’s a really traditional sub – had always made sure he never wanted for anything. It meant the world to her to do it, it wasn’t a chore. But then _she_ was the one who needed looking after, and my dad – well, he was still working…”

 

“He made you come home.” Douglas’ voice was flat and bleak, though he knew Martin wouldn’t be able to distinguish his tone.

 

Martin nodded. “I spent the next nine years living with them again. Dad seemed to get more and more paranoid as Mum got worse – he’d barely let me leave the house.” A light shiver traced through him. “They were my parents. I couldn’t abandon them. Even though I missed flying so much that it was like a physical pain in my chest, sometimes.” Martin extracted a hand from Douglas' clutch, balled a fist under his ribs.

 

“What changed?” Douglas asked.

 

Martin’s voice was toneless in response. “Dad died two years ago, suddenly. He had a stroke.” He paused before continuing. “And Mum went further downhill. I tried to carry on Dad’s removal business – he’d left me his van. Nurses came and went to see to Mum. But I got it wrong. I should have stayed with her –“ His voice cracked in distress. “She died while I was out working one day, shifting some student’s possessions.” Another humourless laugh. “My siblings haven’t forgiven me.”

 

Douglas didn’t dare ask why _they_ hadn’t been helping. Martin’s fractured family wasn’t uncommon in these days of evolving dynamic attitudes. It was no longer considered tops’ sole responsibility to provide financially for bereaved subs; supposedly an expression of equality, but one which had a side-effect of leaving some unfortunates high and dry, totally unsupported.

 

“I grieved, of course,” Martin said. “My brother sorted out the estate. There wasn’t much left over, not after it had been divided in three. Enough for Simon and Caitlin to have £5,000 each and for me to have the van so I could carry on the business.” He went suddenly still. “That’s when I began to make the mistakes that led to _this_ –“ he gestured towards his bruised jaw and winced at his own movement.

 

“Here,” Douglas couldn’t stand the hoarseness of Martin’s voice. “Have some tea.” He just about refrained from physically supporting the mug to the sub’s lips, not wanting to insult his pride. Seeing Martin follow his advice (even for something as simple as a little rehydration) helped to assuage something twisting deep and primal within him. “There you go.”

 

Martin took a long drink before stumbling on with his tale. “All the time I’d been looking after Mum, I’d kept in touch with someone from Panda Charters, on and off. She was my friend, even though she was a pilot and I was just a junior steward. I think she thought we were similar in lots of ways. She’d overcome a lot to get to her position, you see. Her family didn’t want her to fly either.”

 

“She’s a sub?” Douglas guessed.

 

“No,” Martin half-smiled. “She’s… well, she’s the princess of Liechtenstein.”

 

“You’re joking.”

 

“Nope. She’s the eldest of seven sisters. Princesses aren’t supposed to work – but she’s a top, and she put her foot down. She wanted to be in the sky just as much as I did. We bonded over that.”

 

“Bonded?” Douglas did his best to keep the jealousy from his face, but didn’t entirely succeed.

 

Martin’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, no! Not like that. She – she isn’t my type.”

 

“Why ever not?” Douglas was bewildered. “Sounds like you had a lot in common.” He tried to ignore the minute throb of hope in his chest.

 

“Except our gender. She’s… female, Douglas.” Martin’s wry expression took the FO by surprise. “I know it’s unusual – but I’m not bisexual.”

 

“You’re not?” Douglas was taken aback. He could count on the fingers of one hand the number of inter- or uni-sexuals he’d met over the course of his life. “You really are one of a kind, aren’t you?” Not thinking, he ran his hand higher up Martin’s thigh, responding to the growing thrum of electricity between them. At the touch, Martin instinctively arched his neck, and Douglas swayed towards him, suddenly longing to kiss that tempting, pale expanse of skin.

 

But Martin seemed to catch himself, and pulled reluctantly back. Douglas controlled his reflexive shift nearer to him with difficulty. “Sorry.”

 

“Don’t apologise,” Martin sounded regretful. “I don’t want…” he blushed again – “I don’t want this under any remaining hint of dishonest circumstances.”

 

Douglas paused to absorb the implication – _you_ do _want this, and I want you, Christ, so much_ – He had to give himself a mental shake. “You hadn’t finished,” he prompted. “Your friend?”

 

“Theresa came up with an idea when I told her about Mum’s death. She’d moved on by that time – to SwissAir…”

 

“False references,” breathed Douglas, suddenly seeing where the story was going.

 

Martin seemed to take his words as disapproval. “I was desperate,” he pleaded, brokenly. “I knew no airline would take a 35 year old deaf sub as a junior steward. Theresa suggested that I apply somewhere small - as a senior. She argued that a tiny charter firm would never check my references and qualifications too thoroughly… and then I saw the ad for MJN…”

 

“Of course.” Everything was starting to make sense. Douglas’ eyes went unfocused as he played it out in his head.

 

“It’s why I was so… forceful, at the start. I had to prove myself, I _had_ to. I don’t _want_ to be an aggressive sub that tops despise – but I couldn’t let anyone suspect I didn’t belong –“ Martin’s voice grew increasingly frantic.

 

“I didn’t think you were aggressive.”

 

“You – you didn’t?” Martin looked doubtful.

 

Douglas shook his head firmly. “I _admired_ you. I’d never imagined a sub could be so strong, so courageous in the face of such hostility…”

 

Martin shrugged self-deprecatingly. “It was living with my dad. If I wanted anything, he made me fight for it or he’d take no notice.”

 

Douglas clenched his jaw, trying not to let his anger flood forth. He diverted himself by asking the obvious question. “How did Adam find out that you'd been... economical with the truth?”

 

Martin quivered. “His holiday. You know he went to Switzerland… He’d spotted my CV in Carolyn’s office one day when she was out. He asked a friend of his at SwissAir to check their records while he was in Zurich.”

 

“And of course, you didn't feature in them.”

 

“No,” Martin replied. “That’s why he was so nice when he came back. He needed to get me alone. I’m not stupid – two weeks before, I wouldn’t have agreed… but I _wanted_ so much for him to accept me. Because in spite of him, I loved my job.” He quaked and Douglas longed to embrace him comfortingly, but didn’t dare. “I let my hope blind me to what I knew, deep down, like an _idiot._ And that night – with the paperwork – it all came out. He told me he knew I was a liar. He said I was a thief, stealing Carolyn’s wages under falsified references –“

 

“He made you kneel to him,” finished Douglas, poisonous rage flooding his chest.

 

“What?” Martin’s shock and fear was evident. “How did you –“

 

“I saw.” Douglas’ eyes burned into Martin’s. “I’d come back to get something – a book – and I looked through the door, and –“

 

Martin uttered a choked noise of despair and – before Douglas could stop him – he slid off the couch to huddle at Douglas’ feet. “I didn’t want to,” he gasped. “He told me he’d tell Carolyn, that I’d lose my job.” He pressed his face into Douglas’ knees, his shoulders shaking violently. “He said he’d tell _you_ – that he’d seen how I looked at you, and how you wouldn’t even want to be in the same room as me when you knew how I’d defrauded you –“

 

“Martin – Martin –“ Douglas had to physically grip the sub’s arms to get him to look up, his heart wrenching at the sight of the tears spilling from the boy’s eyes. “He was _lying_ to you. I don’t care. I don’t care about any of it.”

 

“You – you can’t mean that,” Martin hiccupped. “I’ve been dishonest with all of you. I pretended I was qualified – I don’t deserve my position – I _gave_ Adam that leverage on a plate, it’s my fault, my fault –“

 

“ **Hush** ,” Douglas ordered, the command issuing from him without a second thought. Martin fell silent immediately, his face still upturned imploringly to Douglas’. Douglas reached slowly for Martin’s neck, telegraphing his movement, giving the sub every opportunity to pull away – but Martin instead inclined his head, allowed Douglas to grip his nape reassuringly.

 

Douglas thrilled to the touch, something in him crying victory at the sight of Martin so obviously drawing comfort from his touch. He traced a single finger through the downy auburn hair at the base of Martin’s skull, using all the skill he possessed to convey both his strength and his protectiveness: _I could wound you, but I won’t – I will only shelter you, console you_ …

 

At length, some of the tension ebbed from Martin’s posture, and he sagged forward into Douglas’ legs. Douglas withdrew his grip a little, though didn’t let the boy go, instead stroking his shoulder. He suspected if he urged Martin’s chin up he’d see the sub’s eyes half-shut, knew he was slipping down into subspace under Douglas’ hands. Reluctantly he resisted the temptation before him – knew it wouldn’t be right to allow Martin to give himself over without discussing it all more first…

 

“Martin.” He gently tugged Martin back up on to the sofa. As he’d suspected, Martin looked drowsy and compliant, and something deep within Douglas soared in heady triumph at the sight. “You look exhausted.”

 

Martin was further under than Douglas had realized – he seemed to struggle to form words. “’M OK.”

 

“Shh,” Douglas soothed. “You’ve talked a lot. Let me get you some painkillers and a duvet.” He stroked a gentle hand down Martin’s arm. “You need more rest.”

 

In spite of his pliancy, Douglas saw a spark of genuine shock cross Martin’s face. “You mean… I can stay? Even after everything I…”

 

“Of course.” Douglas retrieved the blanket he kept folded over the sofa and stood to spread it over his houseguest. “I told you Adam lied – shh, shh,” he gentled, as Martin had startled at the name. “Someday I’ll tell you all about my _illustrious_ career prior to MJN, of which Adam is fully cognizant. But right now – you need to go back to sleep.”

 

Martin shook his head drunkenly in apparent protest. “I want to help you – I should help –“ His words were betrayed by his eyes sliding shut.

 

In lieu of an answer that Martin wouldn’t see, Douglas instead slid a palm down Martin’s cheek. Martin grasped for his hand, holding it tight, and Douglas felt warmth and devotion blooming within him at the sight. “Lie down,” he urged, whether Martin could hear him or not, and lifted Martin’s legs on to the sofa, placing a cushion beneath his head.

 

Martin didn’t seem inclined to let go of his hand even in slumber, holding Douglas’ fingers tight to his cheek. Douglas sank to the floor next to the couch and watched the boy’s rest. He didn’t mind staying. Not one bit.

**Author's Note:**

> Also posted on Tumblr - jay-eagle.tumblr.com. 
> 
> Title is taken from Queens of the Stone Age's 'A Song for the Deaf'.


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